


Sacrifice

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-15
Updated: 2001-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder walks into the hands of a sadist





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Sacrifice By Tesa

**warning** my first story ever, but I hope you enjoy it anyway:) Tesa  
SACRIFICE(1/3)  
By Tesa  
  
RATING: NC-17   
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK(thoughts, no action), VIOLENCE, RAPE  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder walks into the hands of a sadist  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first time, so be gentle with me. Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Mulder leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk, his hands linked behind his head. He gazed at his partner, Dana Scully, a petite red-head, his best friend. They had just returned from an extended wild goose chase out in the boonies of Montana and were writing the final report, or rather, Scully was. He was more interested in thinking about his boss, Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner. 

Mulder had realized very early in life that he found both sexes attractive, but he'd never met a man he'd liked enough to actually consider getting involved with, considering the possible costs of such a relationship. His father had repeatedly taunted him about his slight stature and fine features, telling him he'd kill any cocksucker son of his. And then there was the way society viewed such a relationship, with fear and hate, and the way the Bureau would view it-that could mean death to an agent that couldn't count on his backup to get there in time. In this situation, you could add all that up and then add the fact that Skinner was his boss and had never shown any signs of wanting a relationship with another man, much less Agent Fox Mulder, pain in the ass extraordinaire, and he knew it would be insane to even think about it. But he did. He couldn't help it. He enjoyed thinking about the man, about his height, just a little shorter than Mulder, but his build was much bulkier, a weight-lifter rather than a swimmer and runner. He enjoyed thinking about his face, with its strong, masculine features, his warm brown eyes behind concealing glasses. He enjoyed thinking about Skinner's deep voice, his steady gaze, and his quiet, commanding manner.

The phone rang, abruptly shattering Mulder's pleasant dreaming. Scully picked it up. "Yes. We'll be right there." She looked up at her partner. "AD wants to see us now." Scully saw the light of anticipation brighten his face. 

AD Skinner looked at the two agents standing before his desk--Agent Scully, a quiet, practical, down-to-earth pathologist, and Agent Mulder, a brilliant, quirky, driven psychologist. He respected both of them equally, but for Mulder he felt a little bit different. Skinner had had several relationships with men over the years, but most were a result of a physical need, a physical desire. Sure, he'd liked his partners, maybe even loved them in a way, but what he felt here was different. Of course, he was attracted by Mulder's lean, muscular body, his fine face, his beautiful eyes. He was also drawn to Mulder's quick intelligence, his off-beat sense of humor, his self-deprecating competence. In this case, his...partiality...for this agent was killing him. Block it out, he told himself. Block it out and do your job.

"D.C. police just called. They have a hostage situation developing. Four gunmen have taken roughly thirty people hostage at a bank they were attempting to rob. A teller hit the silent alarm, and now they're in the process of negotiating." Skinner stopped to take a deep breath and try to relax.

"Why are they calling us, sir?" Scully asked.

"They've ID'ed the leader as Thomas Neely."

"Shit," Mulder whispered. He tensed, thinking about thirty innocent people in Neely's hands.

"I second that, Agent Mulder," Skinner answered.

"Sir, who is Thomas Neely?" Scully asked, puzzled.

Skinner looked toward Mulder. Mulder answered, "He's a serial killer. He killed at least six young women in the New York area before we found him. Local police had asked for the Bureau's help after four killings, and I was sent up to do a profile. This was before the X-Files, Scully. Anyway, we eventually caught him, but not before two more young women were tortured to death. He was tried and given life without parole." Mulder looked back at Skinner. 

Skinner answered the silent question. "About six months ago, he was being taken to the hospital for some tests they apparently couldn't do at the prison, and he escaped, killing two guards. There hasn't been any sign of him since then...until now." He looked at Mulder, dread twisting his stomach. "When Neely was arrested, there was a lot of press coverage about it, especially the fact that a hot-shot young F.B.I. agent was in fact responsible. We got a lot of good publicity. Unfortunately, Neely read it, too, and fixed his blame on Agent Mulder." He paused, looking down briefly, then back up, meeting Mulder's gaze.

"He's asking for you, Agent Mulder. He says he'll release half the hostages in return for you. At this time he hasn't indicated what his intentions are. He says he'll kill one hostage an hour until you agree, starting at noon." Skinner noticed the young agent's skin pale, his jaw clench. He looked at his watch. It was 11:05.

"Sir, what are the police planning? Can they send a team in? Are they asking for our help?" Scully was scared. She knew what the answers were; she just needed to hear them said aloud. She glanced at her partner, her friend. They were going to ask him to risk his life, again, and he would do it. She knew he would, and this was as close to a no-win situation as she could imagine.

Skinner could see her desperation. He shared it, but he knew none of them had any real choice, except Mulder, and they all knew what he would choose. "They're set up too well, Agent Scully. The police feel if they have to send in a team, at least half the hostages would get killed." He took a deep breath. "Among the hostages...are a sixth grade class of fifteen students, their teacher, and two parents. The rest are the bank workers and customers, including three more children."

Mulder had been thinking, going back over his profile of Neely and what he needed, what he would do to get what he needed. Now, knowing what was involved, he knew what he had to do. He pushed the fear back, forcing it into a nice little box in his mind, and he shut the lid on it, at least for now. Now he had to be calm, in control. There would be time later to let the fear out. He was sure of that.

"Sir, I'll go. I need to talk to the scene commander, and then Neely. I think I'll be able to get him to release a few more hostages before I go inside. He'll keep a few, though, for his protection, since he knows the cops will hesitate a little more if there are civilians in there than another officer. I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Agent Mulder. We'll all be going, though. Come on. I'll drive."

Mulder hesitated a moment, trying to think if he should protest, if it would do any good. He decided he'd rather Skinner was there. He knew that there would be only a slight chance of his survival once he entered the bank, and he'd like the two people he cared about most to be there. He nodded and followed AD Skinner out of the office.

 

Lieutenant Jack Adams met with the F.B.I agents in the back of the communications van. Specialists manned the various electronics inside the van, listening to the now quiet bank, watching television broadcasts, and attending the phone lines. He sized up the man being asked to risk his life for thirty strangers, wondering if he had the guts, or if he was going to be cleaning up a lot of innocent blood.

"Lt. Adams, I'm AD Skinner, this is Agent Mulder and Agent Scully."

"AD Skinner, Agents, thank you for coming down. We don't have a lot of time before Neely's going to call, looking for an answer." Adams looked at Agent Mulder. "Agent Mulder, there are two doors in the bank, a single glass door in the front and an alarmed solid door in the back. We have sharpshooters posted covering both, of course, but the perps are careful to stay out of our line of sight. They have automatic weapons, and they claim they have explosives as well. They've said that they have locked up one group of hostages with explosives that will be detonated if we try anything. The other group of hostages is being held at gunpoint somewhere inside the bank, which has an open area for customer service, several smaller offices, and at least two conference rooms. I'm telling you all this because you need to know that I've looked for any and every other possible solution. I just don't have one. I hate this like hell, but I need to ask you if you'll go in there." 

Adams watched the tall, lanky man. His face was calm, his body at ease. He won't go, Adams thought. He really didn't blame the man. They all knew it was a death sentence, going in there, especially since the agent was responsible for sending Neely to prison in the first place. Adams had read the file on Neely as soon as he gave his name. He had wanted them to know exactly whom they had holed up in there. He'd also tried to find out what he could about Fox Mulder. Rumor said he was a flake, a guy who saw little green men behind everything. Other agents had nicknamed him "Spooky." Adams wasn't encouraged.

Mulder met Adams' eyes. He knew what the other man was thinking. It didn't matter. Nothing did, other than getting those people out of there before Neely started feeling the need to hurt someone. If all went well, he knew he'd be the one to satisfy Neely's needs. "I'll go, Lt. Adams. I want to talk to Neely first, though. I think I can get him to release a few more hostages." 

It took a minute to sink in. The words were so different from what he had been expecting. Okay. Maybe he wouldn't have thirty dead innocents on his hands, after all. Maybe he'd only have fifteen, plus an F.B.I. agent. That still wasn't acceptable, but it was moving into the bearable range. He saw the way AD Skinner and Agent Scully flanked Agent Mulder, silently offering their support. Fuck bearable. He needed to find a way to save them all.

The phone rang one, twice, three times. Lt. Adams picked it up, listened. "He's here. He wants to talk to you." He punched a button to put it on conference and hung up the handset.

Mulder sat sprawled in his chair, looking almost bored. "This is Agent Mulder. What can I do for you, Mr. Neely?"

A deep, amused voice answered, "Mulder. It's so nice to finally speak to you. I saw you at the trial, of course, but you never answered my requests to come see me."

"I really didn't have anything to say to you, Mr. Neely."

"Oh, Mulder, but I had things I wanted to say to you." Neely's voice was low, menacing. "I hold you responsible for the ugliest part of my life to date, Mulder, my time in prison. You took everything from me, my work, my play.... I want to show you how I feel about that, Mulder."

"Listen up, Mulder. Here's my deal. I'm a very smart man, but then you know that. I know I'm either going back to prison, or I'm going to die here. And I'm not ready to die. That means, of course, that I'd rather not kill anyone if I can help it, not even you. Are you surprised?"

"Actually, yes, I am. I got the impression that you were looking forward to killing me." Mulder glanced at Lt. Adams, a question in his eyes. Adams shook his head. He had no idea what was going on in Neely's head.

Neely chuckled. He was enjoying himself immensely now, and it would get even better soon. "Well, truthfully, Mulder, I would like to kill you, you're right. However, I've accepted the situation as it is. I'm sure I'll have another chance to kill you sooner or later, so for now, I'll take what I can get. That is, if you're willing to give it."

"Tell me."

"I want to hurt you, Mulder. I want to hurt you very badly. I want to beat you and kick you and whip you and rape you and cut you and burn you and shock you. That's what I want, Mulder. You take off your clothes and walk into the bank, into my world for a little while. You've seen my world before, Mulder, from a distance, but now you get a close-up and personal view. In return, I will release half my hostages now, the rest after I've finished with you. You'll still be alive. You might not want to be by then, but you will be. So tell me, Agent Mulder, is it a deal?"

Mulder closed his eyes, forcing the fear back into its box again. It wasn't time yet. Soon, though. He didn't want this to happen. He could have faced death fairly easily. He would have been sorry to leave Scully alone, and he would have regretted never letting Walter know how he felt, but all in all, death just wasn't that scary a concept for him. It meant a release from the hurt and the uncertainty and the despair of this world. Torture was a different story altogether. He didn't want to be helpless, under the control of this lunatic with an imagination. He dreaded humiliating himself by begging or pleading or crying, and he knew, if the pain went on long enough, he'd do all three. Any man would. It was natural. He could tell himself that, but it still wouldn't make it any easier to bear. And what if he were crippled? What if Neely blinded him or cut off a hand, or a foot, or his privates. He wouldn't want to live like that. Enough. It's not like he had a choice, after all. These people's lives depended on him. He could bear anything to save a child's life, much less eighteen of them. He opened his eyes.

Scully reached out, holding Mulder's arm. She wanted to scream, to cry, to charge the bank with a gun and kill the maniac inside that wanted to hurt her partner. She knew he would go, of course. That was Mulder. There was nothing she could do. Not yet. 

Skinner had to force himself not to touch Mulder, too. He wanted to stop this, to protect him, but he couldn't. The choice was Mulder's. He told himself that Neely was a dead man walking. Oh yes.

Adams watched `Spooky' Mulder gather himself together and answer the man that was going to torture him. "I want more than half, Mr. Neely. If you are going to surrender after you're done with me, you really don't need hostages. Let them all go, and I'll come in."

"Oh, no, Agent Mulder. No way in hell. Don't you think I know how cops think? If the only person I got in here is a federal agent, they'll attack with no hesitation. No. I'll tell you what, though, Mulder. I'll give you all but...four. Yeah, two kids and two adults stay. I'll let the others go. In return, I want you to agree to cooperate. Yeah, I like that. You agree to do what I tell you and... and you bring some toys with you, yeah, that's real good, and you get twenty-six people. Sounds like a good deal to me. What do you say, Mulder?"

"It's a deal, Mr. Neely."

It was time. The twenty-six hostages had been released a few minutes ago, men, women, and children, running for safety. Left inside were two children, a boy and a girl, their teacher, and a young teacher's aide. A detective came into the van with a large duffle bag. It contained the `toys' Neely had specified. The detective had been assigned to go buy them from a specialty shop. He dropped the bag next to Agent Mulder, feeling sick, knowing some of what was going to be happening to the young agent. He needed to say something to the man, something to help him, something to make himself feel better. "Agent Mulder?"

Mulder looked up at him, then over to the bag, then back. He had seen the list. He knew what was in there. He was going to take Neely the things he needed to torture him. Talk about perverse. "Detective?"

"Good luck, sir." He didn't know what else he could say and not sound stupid.

Mulder saw the detective's face and understood. "Thanks...Will, isn't it? Call me Mulder, please, nobody calls me by my first name."

Will nodded and put out his hand. "Mulder." They shook hands, and the detective left.

Mulder had already spoken to the Lieutenant. All that was left was to speak to Skinner and Scully. They had been waiting quietly, letting him handle it, and he appreciated the support, and the confidence it showed. He stepped out of the van, asking the AD to follow. They stopped a short distance away from the van, away from everyone. Mulder had thought about what he was going to say. There was too much for too short a time, so he whittled it down to the essentials. He knew Neely had said he wasn't going to kill him, and he believed the man meant it, but he also knew that accidents happened. He figured he could get away with saying this now, and, if he died, then it was a good thing he'd told Walter how he felt. If he lived, they could pretend it never happened, if that's what they wanted. 

He met Skinner's eyes. "Walter, please don't say anything here. I just wanted to tell you that...I respect and admire you. You've been a good man to work for. And I need you to know that...I'm attracted to you. I don't know if it's even possible for you to be attracted to a man, much less me, but I wanted you to know that." He smiled, a wry little smile, and continued. "After this is over, you can tell me you're attracted too, or you can forget I ever said it. It's up to you. I won't bother you with it again, and I won't let it affect our working relationship." He saw the surprise in Skinner's widened eyes and laughed. He did enjoy shocking the man.

Mulder turned away and walked over to Scully, standing close to the van's door. They spoke for a few minutes, their heads close together, their bodies leaning toward one another. Scully wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. Mulder held her, his chin resting on top of her head. He felt her trembling. He bent down and spoke to her again, and then they separated and returned to the van.

Mulder spoke to Lt. Adams. "Let him know I'm on my way." He started to strip. In a few moments he was naked. The cops studiously looked away, watching the equipment, each other, anything other than the vulnerable, naked man. Mulder picked up the duffle bag and turned to go. He saw Adams watching and nodded to him, receiving one in return. He grinned a little at the odd expression on Skinner's face and then smiled at Scully, trying to give her some strength. He knew his was the easier job this time. If it had been Scully in this position, he'd have come unglued. They would have had to tie him up. He turned and left the van, then started the long walk across the street to the bank. He felt overwhelmingly self-conscious, like he was on a stage. He knew there was a huge crowd just a short distance away, and television cameras were everywhere, getting a good look at his everything. Well, he couldn't do anything about it. Neely was calling the shots, and he wanted Mulder naked and helpless. Well, he was naked. They'd have to see about the helpless part. 

 

Mulder entered the bank cautiously, looking for the gunmen and the hostages and checking the layout. A short, stocky man stood in a doorway across the empty lobby, a desk blocking out the lower portion of his body. He eyed Mulder, giving him a slow, nasty grin. "Come on over, Mr. F.B.I. Agent. We've been waiting for you." He gestured with the stubby assault rifle in his arms.

Mulder walked over to the desk, forcing himself to move naturally, unwilling to give the gunman the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. At least not yet, anyway, he added to himself. Let's be honest here. This man was going to see a lot more than a little sweating soon. He placed the duffle bag on the desk and shoved it over, then slid across after it.

He found himself in a large conference room. The furniture had been pushed into a jumbled barricade before the door, with an opening at his left. Mulder grabbed the bag and moved into the room while the gunman remained at the door.

Three more men awaited him. One stood watch over the two young women and two children that had been left behind. Two others stood nearby, watching Mulder approach. Thomas Neely was of medium-height build, with non-descript short brown hair and eyes, in his mid-thirties, totally forgettable. An animal in human flesh. The man next to him was tall, about six-four Mulder estimated, and strongly built. He was older, maybe mid-forties, with dark hair and eyes. He watched Mulder with careful, knowing eyes.

Mulder came within ten feet of them and stopped, dropping the bag with a thud. He stood facing them, his body open, his hands relaxed at his sides. It was like meeting a snarling dog, or a wild animal. Never let them smell the fear. Never run from them. He glanced over at the hostages. They appeared well, if scared to death, if the look in those eyes were any clue. They were sitting with their backs to a wall, the younger woman hugging the kids in front of her, the older woman in front of them, watching the men closely. Mulder felt his heart lift a little. Those women had the look of allies, not victims. He returned his attention to Neely. Time to get on with it.

Neely was smiling, enjoying himself immensely. The man responsible for his imprisonment was here, naked and unprotected before him, just like in his dreams. In general, he chose women for his victims, they were so much more fun to terrorize, but he was going to enjoy breaking this man, oh yes. He let his eyes wander over the agent, appreciating the lean, muscular frame that was going to last a long time under his tender mercies. He looked up to meet Mulder's gaze. It was calm and steady, but Neely knew better. "Are you afraid, Agent Mulder?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm afraid." Mulder didn't look away as he admitted his fear.

Neely inhaled sharply, his cock hardening. Oh my. "Good. Let's begin, shall we? Hand over the bag."

Mulder did as he was told, handing his torturer the instruments to hurt him.

A pull-up bar was fixed into the doorway. Rough hands tied rope to each of Mulder's wrists, threw them over the bar and yanked, pulling him into the air. He hung there, waiting, but not for long. Hands made fists and thudded into his body, making it jerk and flail. They took their time, enjoying it, talking breaks, laughing and talking, smoking. They stayed away from his head and belly for the most part, not wanting to kill him or cloud his awareness of what was happening.

Eons later Mulder hung his head, gasping, his wrists chafed and raw, his arms and chest aching from holding his weight, his whole body throbbing from the pain of the beating he'd taken. They were tired of hitting him and bored with his reaction. His initial grunts and groans of pain had died away as exhaustion took over. Neely had decreed a short rest period for all involved before a change of pace. 

Ann had been watching the young agent's beating. She had been teaching middle school for almost ten years now, and she had seen her share of schoolyard fights. She had never seen anyone receive a beating like this man. She knew why he was here. She knew he was taking it for them, and the others already free. She had felt sick from the sight and sound of the first blow, but she figured that if he could take this for them, she could watch it, witness it. 

Halftime was over. Neely approached Mulder, a nasty looking leather strap hanging from his hand, twitching against his leg. He saw Mulder's eyes fasten on the strap and smiled, enjoying the flare of fear and dread in his face. "Well, Fox, are you ready? Answer me!" he snapped.

Mulder inhaled sharply. He had agreed to cooperate. "Yes," he forced out, inviting pain.

Neely nodded, pleasure rushing through him. He so enjoyed Mulder's pain and fear. He had so much planned for the poor man. This was only part two. He stepped behind the hanging man.

The next hour was filled with the crack of leather on bare skin and the resulting gasps, groans, and cries of pain. Neely laid a path from the top of Mulder's shoulders to his knees, carefully covering every square inch of skin. Mulder's world shrank, his consciousness limited to the burning agony through his arms, shoulders, and chest and the sharp flare of each new stroke joining the dull ache of the old ones. Finally Neely dropped the strap and kicked it away. He ran his hand slowly down Mulder's back, enjoying the red, burning heat of the abused tissue. He hadn't broken the skin, not yet, but the strap would leave some impressive bruising. His cock was rock hard. Time for part three. He called his men over.

Mulder groaned deep in his chest when the men took him down from the bar. He fell in a heap on the floor, blood rushing in to his hands and arms in a rush of fire. They laughed and joked as they lifted him and dragged him over to a nearby desk. They forced him over it, belly down and tied him quickly, efficiently. He knew what was next, and he didn't know if he could take it. His gut was knotted and he panted, short, sharp gusts of terror.

Neely bent down, inches from Mulder's face, feeling the puffs of breath, seeing the terror, and he drank it all in, feeding from it. His hand cupped Mulder's rough cheek, and he waited until he knew he had the man's attention. "Are you ready to be raped, Fox? Are you ready to feel my cock in your ass?" His hand tightened as he waited impatiently. 

"Yes." A soft, despairing whisper.

Neely smiled. He moved behind the bound man and unzipped his pants, freeing his erect penis. He lubed himself up for his own comfort and pleasure and mounted Mulder, driving deep into tight virgin ass. Mulder yelled hoarsely as he felt Neely's cock fill him, penetrating him, raping him. Groans marked each hard, deep thrust as Neely fucked the helpless agent relentlessly. Feeling the hard cock in his ass, fucking him, using him, Mulder knew he'd never be clean again. 

Neely moaned, "Yes, take it, Fox, take my big cock, feel me fucking your ass, you're mine now...ohhh, this is for you, Fox..." He thrust hard and came, his semen spurting into Mulder's ass. He lay over Mulder's body, resting; his penis still inside him. Finally he sighed and pulled away. He gestured to his comrades, and the next man stepped up, ready, willing, and able. Then it was the third man's turn, Rich Watson, Neely's second in command. He approached Mulder, noticing the strain in the man's body, the color and swelling from the beatings he'd taken already today, and the semen coating his ass and thighs. He walked around to the other side of the desk, looking into the man's face. Mulder had his eyes closed and his face was clearly marked with the pain, fear, and shame of his rape. "Look at me." His voice was deep, slow, commanding.

It took Mulder a few minutes for the voice and the meaning to penetrate the haze that shrouded his awareness. His eyes flicked open, dully curious. Watson's gaze held his as he slowly opened his pants and released his cock, one of the biggest he'd ever seen. Fear and horror seeped through him as his mind jumped to what Watson was going to do to him.

"Listen to me." Watson spoke slowly, deliberately. "You are going to suck my cock. You are going to swallow all my semen. If you refuse, or if you try to hurt me, I will hurt you. I will take your balls in my hand and crush them. Believe me." Mulder believed. He opened his mouth and accepted the huge cock, closing his lips around it. Tears escaped his control and wet his cheeks as he sucked. He opened his mouth wider and tried to relax his throat as the man thrust into his face, trying not to gag. Watson fucked his mouth for a long time, enjoying it immensely, his hands clenched in Mulder's hair, guiding the bobbing head. Near the end, the last man mounted Mulder from behind, driving home in one thrust. With a cock in his ass and one in his mouth, Mulder longed for death, exactly as Neely had promised he would. Watson groaned and thrust deep into the smaller man's throat, coming hard. Mulder swallowed frantically, trying to keep up, trying to breathe, trying to live. Then they were done with him. They left him there, bent over and sticky with semen, while they rested and talked quietly.

Mulder concentrated on his breathing, letting everything else fade away. Breathe in, slowly, expand the ribcage, breathe out, slowly, relax. And again. He let himself think about Scully, waiting outside for him. He could see her, standing next to Skinner, her eyes distant as she worked out a plan to get him out of there, planning the scolding she'd give him for getting himself into this hell of a situation. Skinner would be conferring, consulting, planning, organizing, making things happen. Thinking about Skinner, remembering what he'd said to him earlier, Mulder wondered what his reaction really was. Was he attracted to Mulder, too? As much as he wished for it, he really didn't think so. The man had never given him a second look, that Mulder could tell. And even if, by some miracle there had been something there, what could ever happen now?

They came for him again.

 

Thomas Neely ran his eyes over the results of his handiwork. Agent Fox Mulder hung limply from the bar, head down. He looked like human artwork, his body painted red from his neck down. They had carefully avoided his head. No need to make it easier for him through unconsciousness or concussion. After the first rape session, they had hung him back up, and Neely had taken the whip to his backside, slashing him to ribbons from shoulder to knee. Next was a second rape. Mulder had been nearly insensible by this time, but they revived him with smelling salts. There was no escape for him, not yet. He was hung up again, and Neely retrieved the strap and went to work on the front side of his body. After his arm grew tired Neely started with his knife, carefully slicing and jabbing. Soon even smelling salts wouldn't revive the agent completely. He drifted in a haze of pain, his senses shutting down. Neely knew he was nearing the end. It took all the fun out of it if Mulder couldn't feel and respond to the stimuli he was applying. They took him down again and bent him over the desk for one final rape. Neely allowed the other three to go first, fucking the unresisting man again and again, driving into his ass and thrusting into his slack mouth, filling both holes with their hot semen. When they were done, Neely stepped up. He grabbed Mulder's hair, pulling the agent's head up as he buried his aching cock full length into the man and stilled. "Mulder. Listen to me, Mulder. Mulder!" He waited until the head in his hand twitched and his eyes opened, the awareness cloudy but present.

"Feel my cock buried in your ass, Agent Mulder. Feel the mark I've made on your body. The scars will never go away. You won't forget, will you, Agent Mulder? You'll always remember the feel of me between your legs, fucking you, spilling my seed in your ass, taking my pleasure in your pain and shame, your absolute helplessness. I've so enjoyed your tight, virgin asshole. Of course, you're not a virgin anymore, are you? And you're not so tight, either, but don't worry, you're still tight enough to give a man pleasure." As he finished speaking, Neely starting thrusting slowly, long, deep strokes of complete possession.

Mulder, feeling the man drive deep into his ass, knew that he was right. He would never forget this. He would never forget the pain of his battered body and the agony of his abused soul. He would never again be the man he was before this day. 

 Neely finally shouted, thrusting deeply, and came hard, spurting hot semen deep in Mulder. "There Agent Mulder, that's for you. A nice hot load of semen for you to treasure always, take it, yes...take it all, every last drop of my pleasure...there you go...ahhh, so good, you feel so good and hot and tight around my cock, Agent. I'd like to stay here forever, but I guess we should move on, shouldn't we?" He pulled out reluctantly and zipped himself up. He patted Mulder's ass gently and turned away. Time to go.

Neely and his men tied and gagged the four remaining hostages and left the room. A long while later Mulder slowly lifted his head, confused. They'd left him alone for short periods during his torture, but they'd never all left the room like this. He hoped it meant they were surrendering and help would be here soon, but he wasn't counting on it. He saw the hostages, tied and gagged, eyes wide with fear. He gingerly moved his right wrist, testing his bonds, waiting for the tug as the rope pulled taut, but it didn't happen. He moved his hand closer to him, and still no tug. He tried his left hand. It moved. A similar experiment told him his ankles were free as well. Excitement welled in him, but he forced it back. He wasn't home free yet. The first step would be to get off this damn desk and over to the hostages. He knew he couldn't make it out of this room, but if he could get one of them free, she could go for help. That is, if Neely and his men weren't waiting outside the door. However, from what he remembered Neely saying he doubted it. They were gone, and if he didn't get one of the women free, they'd all be stuck here until the cops decided to investigate, and that could be a long time. They wouldn't want to take any action that could get an innocent killed, so they would wait. Mulder knew he didn't want to wait that long. This was going to hurt like hell, he knew. Well, one step at a time.

Using his hands and arms, he slowly pushed himself backward until his center of gravity shifted, and he fell back off the desk, landing on his back with a thud. The pain exploded throughout his body, and he cried out. He panted, letting the pain fade into general agony again before he moved. Gritting his teeth he turned over and looked for the knife Neely had used on him. He had heard the thud when it was dropped after Neely was done. He needed it to cut the ropes because he knew his hands wouldn't be able to untie them. Long hours hanging from his wrists had made them nearly useless. 

He crawled slowly around the desk and spotted it, only a few feet away. Mulder crawled to it, leaving a trail of blood to mark his passage. He grabbed it and put it between his teeth. He needed his hands to crawl. Long, ugly minutes later he made it to the hostages and started cutting the rope holding one of the women's hands behind her back. He was fading in and out. He didn't know how he'd managed so far, but he was determined to get this done. His hands swollen and aching, he carefully sawed at the thick rope. Finally it parted and Mulder let himself fall back.

Ann felt the rope give and pulled her hands free. She hurriedly untied her feet, pulled off her gag then moved to cut the others free with the knife Mulder held out to her. After they were free she kneeled down next to the battered man. "Agent?"

Mulder roused, knowing he had to stay coherent just a little longer. "All of you. Go to the door. Look for them. If you don't see them, go to the front door. Yell that the hostages are coming out. Wait until they reply. Follow orders. You'll be alright." He closed his eyes, fighting to stay with it, conscious. After they were safe he would be able to let go, he promised himself. Soon, very soon. 

Ann worried, "But what about you?"

Mulder opened his eyes, met hers. "I think they're gone. You need to go for help."

Ann nodded. She gathered them together and herded them to the door. She peered out, gestured them forward. Mulder was alone.

Long minutes later the first of the S.W.A.T. team entered the bank, sweeping the area for the perps. They saw him, and one stayed while the others continued on. Soon the paramedics were there, and Scully and Skinner. Scully held his hand, tears tracking down her face as the paramedics worked on him. He smiled up at her, a little twitch of his lips, trying to reassure her. The world started to fade around him, and he let it, hearing the low, calm tones of the paramedics talking to each other as he slowly lost consciousness. He could rest now. 

Skinner stood back, taking in the sight of his agent, bloody and bruised and cut, but alive. There would be time later for some truths that were way overdue. He could very easily have died today. For that matter, he could die any day. Skinner refused to waste any more time. 

They loaded him into the ambulance and rushed off, leaving Scully and Skinner to follow.

****************************************************************** 

End of part 1

 

* * *

 

SACRIFICE (2/3)  
By Tesa  
  
RATING: NC-17   
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK (no action), Aftermath of violence and rape  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder recovers from torture and rape  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first time, so be gentle with me. Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Mulder woke slowly, his consciousness slowly expanding from the realization that he was alive to the recognition of all the pain messages his body was sending him to the knowledge that he was in the hospital. Again. He kept his eyes closed as he worked his way through the recent past. He remembered relaxing in his and Scully's office; he remembered being called to Skinner's office. There was a hostage situation at a D.C. bank. Thomas Neely. Oh, God, yes. He remembered exchanging himself for most of the hostages, and he hastily skipped over the next endless hours. No need to go into that, not yet. No, not yet. He remembered Scully holding his hand and the paramedics working on him, their voices low and urgent.

He listened to the world around him, enjoying the knowledge that he was alive and mostly well. Neely may have beaten, whipped, cut, burned and raped him, but it could have been worse. He hadn't crippled him or cut off any parts, at least. He was pathetically grateful for that, oh, yes, he was. He was grateful, too, that no one else had been hurt. The hostages had all made it out alive and unhurt, and that was no small thing. He heard muffled voices and the squeak of footsteps outside in the hall, the whisper of the air conditioning, and the rustle of cloth very close.

He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes, seeing a pale, rumpled Dana Scully curled up in the chair at his bedside. His eyes warmed, and he had to smile. It was such a familiar sight. He was glad to see it again, even in these circumstances. He hadn't truly believed he'd live through this latest episode in the soap opera he called his life.

"Scully," he whispered.

She came awake with a start and set her feet on the floor, leaning toward him, her hand reaching for his. "Mulder, you're awake. How are you feeling?" 

He saw the concern in her face as he cautiously cataloged the pain signals being sent to his brain. "Kind of like I've been run over by a truck and dragged down the street by it. The pain's there, but it seems...muted, I guess. I have the feeling that I really, really don't want to move any time soon." His voice faded as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him.

Scully saw it in his face and gently stroked his hand. It was warm and real under hers. "It's all right, Mulder. They've got you on some pretty powerful pain meds. Don't fight it. Your body needs to rest. Go back to sleep. You're going to be fine." She watched as his eyes closed and his face relaxed into sleep once more. Her eyes closed too, and her head dropped to rest on the hand she still held. She didn't think she could ever forget the sight of him in that bank. He'd been naked, laying face down on the floor. His skin was colored red from neck to knees from his own blood, and a trail of it led from him to a nearby desk. More of his blood splattered the floor by a doorway, under a pull up bar clearly used to hang him up for the torturers' pleasure. She remembered seeing the blood, seeing the torn, ruined flesh of his back and buttocks, and smelling the unmistakable scents of blood and sex. She was a doctor, a pathologist, used to seeing death, used to seeing the bodies left by killers and rapists, but she'd felt faint. This was Mulder under the blood and semen. This was Mulder, her partner, her best friend. She had gone to him, held his hand. She thought he'd been at least a little aware. She thought she'd felt him squeeze her hand. She thought she'd seen an attempt at a smile, for her. She had held on, willing him to fight, to heal, to be well. And he would be. At least physically. 

Skinner gazed at Mulder's still form. Scully had called him a short while ago, telling him that Mulder had been awake for a little bit. It was a good sign, an encouraging sign to the people that cared about him. Skinner had told Scully he was coming down to sit by Mulder, and she was to get some rest, and he'd make it an order if he had to. She'd reluctantly agreed. Now he waited, his eyes tracing the still features of the man he...cared about? Was attracted to? Wanted? Liked. Respected. Mulder was an irritating, superior bastard sometimes, but he was also a brilliant, imaginative, thorough investigator. He was handsome and could be charming, in an old world, Cary Grant, David Niven kind of way. Skinner had been attracted to him for a long time. Years, really. But Mulder was a subordinate, a fellow agent, a man who'd never given him any indications that he was anything other than a practicing heterosexual. Not that that really meant anything, but a guy's got to have some kind of hint, some kind of encouragement for such a huge step. In the end, Mulder had been the one to take it, after all. Of course, he thought he was going to die, Skinner admitted with an inward smile. And while they still had the same problems facing them as before-namely, he was Mulder's boss in a homophobic organization. Skinner was determined not to waste any more time. If Mulder wanted to take a chance, Walter Skinner would be more than happy to take it with him.

Mulder's eyes opened, meeting his. Skinner saw his memory of recent events return, shadowing his eyes; self-consciousness and a slight embarrassment flushed his features. "Sir."

"Mulder. I'm attracted to you, too." Skinner watched the man's color fade, then return.

Mulder laughed, he had to. "Oh, God, Sir, do we have some timing, or what?

Skinner gave him a slow smile. "My name's Walter, Fox. And only you could proposition your male boss on your way to visit a sociopath."

"Sir...Walter, I really prefer Mulder..."

"Too bad. I refuse to call my lover by his last name. Get used to it."

Mulder was stunned. Lover! "Yes, sir." He shook his head. He still didn't get any slack, even now. As he gazed at Skinner's concerned face, he could hardly believe that this was real. Walter Skinner had called him "lover"!He'd dreamed and fantasized for so long, but he didn't quite know what to say or do now.

Skinner was smiling still, enjoying the look of complete and total confusion on Mulder's face. He couldn't remember ever seeing this man speechless before. It was priceless.

"What do we do now, Walter?" Mulder was finally able to ask.

"We talk. We visit. We get to know each other, like a couple of regular people. I would like to know you better, Fox."

"But what about the job...we can't..." Mulder trailed off.

"We can't be open or obvious. I know. But I think I can justify a few visits to an injured agent. Of course, once you get out of the hospital we'll have to be very careful. I'm sure a couple of experienced agents like us can handle it, Fox. Don't you?"

Mulder smiled back. "Undoubtedly, sir."

\---------------------------------

Time passed and Mulder began to heal, on the outside anyway. The damage done to him had been serious but not life-threatening. His body ached all the time, the intensity spiking if he forgot his limitations and tried to do too much. He didn't like to take the pain pills they tried to give him; they fogged him out too much. He'd much rather be in control, so he endured the pain. He tried to rest, but he couldn't find a position that didn't hurt. His chest and back reminded him of the strap and the whip he'd been introduced to, and his sides reminded him of the fists and the batons. Then there was his ass. That part of his anatomy screamed at him (no small reminders for it, no indeed) no matter which position he tried. The agony there screamed to him that he'd been violated, that he had been helpless, powerless, a victim. 

Mulder hated that word. Victim. To his mind a victim was weak, someone to be pitied, cared for. He didn't want that applied to him. He didn't want to see himself as weak. He hated that everyone knew what had happened to him. He dreaded facing the people back at work. They already thought him strange, "Spooky." Now they'd feel sorry for him, too. Then there were the fucking flashbacks. Several times a day he'd just...zone out...and see himself bent over that desk, feeling a dick pounding into him, stretching him unbearably. He'd hear the man's grunts of effort and pleasure and his own moans of pain and denial. He'd feel the man's weight pushing him down, into the table, making it hard to breathe. He'd feel the man's pants abrading his thighs. Those flashbacks were the other reason he'd refused their medications. No way did he want to get stuck in a flashback, unable to jerk himself out of it. No way.

A rape counselor had come by, but Mulder couldn't bring himself to talk to the man. Yeah, it had been a man. That was a relief anyway. He'd taken a card and promised to call if he needed to talk. Sure. 

Skinner had come by to visit nearly every night. They had talked a lot, sharing their backgrounds, their lifestyles, their thoughts, ideas, and values. Mulder loved it. He loved looking at the man, his eyes slowly roaming over the handsome face, the killer body. That man was built. Oh, yes. He loved listening to him talk, the sound of his voice, the gentle movement of his hands while explaining or emphasizing something important. He loved the way he thought, deliberate and thorough. He loved the way his life, his experience was so different from Mulder's, so interesting-a full, happy childhood, loving home, military service, long, outstanding Bureau career. He loved the way he listened, with his whole self, body still, totally attentive. He didn't seem to be just waiting for his turn to speak, rehearsing what he wanted to say. Mulder just plain loved him. And they hadn't even become lovers yet!

Not that that was going to happen any time soon, Mulder thought. Although he still wanted Skinner more than ever, the idea of touching a man, of sex with a man, sent his heart racing and his body shivering, not from passion, but rather fear, absolute and utter panic. No way, no how. He knew they didn't have to practice anal sex; there were other ways for two men to enjoy each other. But the bottom line was that he'd be vulnerable. Skinner was bigger and stronger than he was. He'd be able to do anything he wanted to Mulder. Even though he trusted Skinner with his life, something in him couldn't even begin to trust him with his body like that. Not yet, maybe not ever, he thought. What a depressing thought. Shit.

Scully came to see him every day after work. They'd visit, laugh, watch T.V., maybe eat dinner. What a partner. What a friend. He didn't know what he'd do without her. He really didn't think he'd still be around, if he hadn't had her friendship to hold onto. Walter waited until she left before he visited. Mulder knew he had to tell her something pretty soon. She'd kill him if he tried to keep something like that a secret from her. She didn't deserve it. But what could he say now? I love him, but I don't know if it'll work. No. He just couldn't get into that conversation yet.

The Lone Gunmen called him. They weren't into hospitals. Mulder didn't blame them. He wasn't either.

Finally they let him go home with pages of instructions and bottles of pills-pain pills, antibiotics, muscle relaxants, sleeping pills, the whole enchilada. Mulder thought he could probably open a drugstore. When he got home he dumped them all in a drawer, keeping only the antibiotics out. No way was he risking an infection and maybe another stay in the hospital. Scully had taken the day off to get him home and settled. He had let her make him lunch and fuss, and then he had told her to go home. It had been so long since he'd been alone, really alone. He had really needed that.

He carefully stretched out on his side on the couch and turned on the T.V. Maybe he could get some rest now. Maybe the flashbacks would stay away for a while. Maybe he could forget. Yeah, right.

****************************************************************** 

End of part 2

 

* * *

 

SACRIFICE (3/3)  
By Tesa  
  
RATING: NC-17   
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/O, M/SK Explicit m/m sex, a hint of BDSM  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder relives his nightmare  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Enjoy.

* * *

Mulder came awake abruptly, disoriented. He tried to rub his face with his hand, confused further when he couldn't move. What the hell? Slowly his senses reported their findings to his brain. He lay on his stomach on a soft surface. A bed? His hands were stretched out above his head, held firmly in soft restraints. His ankles were similarly pulled apart. He was naked and blindfolded, and his hips were raised high. Shit. Panic raced through him, and he struggled futilely, unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction. No. This couldn't be happening to him, not again. God, please, no. He struggled on, knowing it would do no good, yet he couldn't just lie there, waiting for it. His breath came in harsh panting groans, drowning out the sounds of movement.

A man's heavy body came down on top of him, pressing him into the bed, stilling his struggles immediately. Mulder felt the bare hard flesh against his own, and he couldn't stop the whimper of fear from escaping. He didn't think he could survive this again.

"Shhhh," the man hushed him. He did nothing more, just lay there, on top of Mulder.

Mulder quieted, each breath an effort under this man's weight. His heart slowed, and he relaxed in spite of himself. The human body can only sustain so much before it gives in. He felt the man's warm breath on his neck, slow and rhythmic.

Then it began. The man touched him. His hands, hard and calloused, gently explored Mulder's defenseless body. They stroked his neck...his shoulders...arms. They traced each finger slowly, thoroughly. They lingered under his arms, learning the delicate skin there before moving to his ribs, fingering each bone. The man shifted to his side, maintaining full body contact, yet baring Mulder to his touch.

It felt so good. 

Mulder couldn't remember ever being touched like this, like his body was being learned, worshipped. He wasn't a virgin, of course, in any sense of the word, but besides never having had a lover this selfless, he'd never been able to trust another person enough to allow this. His last sexual experience had been the rape he'd endured, of course, and it had been a long time before that to his last lover. He hadn't known, hadn't realized how much he'd needed to be touched, like this. Of course, he wasn't deluding himself. This guy could and probably would get violent and abusive at any time, but Mulder was too tired and too...comfortable to deny himself in the meantime.

The man had moved on to his legs, gently tracing the taut runner's muscles, stroking the outsides, fingering his cold toes, warming them, then moving up the inside of his legs. Mulder tensed as his hands neared then reached his buttocks. They stroked the soft skin, weighed each buttock in turn, then one finger made its way into the cleft. Mulder groaned his denial, holding himself stiff, clenching his muscles tight.

"Shhhh," he heard the whisper again as the man continued his calm, tender ministrations. He ignored Mulder's resistance, continuing to stroke and finger Mulder's ass, then reaching to concentrate his attention on his cock and balls. 

The stroking continued. The man kept one hand on Mulder's cock, and the other resumed roaming his body. It was inevitable. As the man made love to him, Mulder's cock hardened. It felt so good. One hand left his body for a moment, and then returned. His buttocks were parted and a large, slick finger eased just barely into his anus. Mulder stiffened again, fear clenching his belly tight, but the finger went no further, and the other hand continued stroking his hard cock.

Mulder slowly relaxed into the warmth of the hand stroking his cock. The finger in his ass felt strange; it didn't really hurt; it was just...intimate. It made him feel so...vulnerable. As he relaxed, the man slowly pushed his finger deeper into Mulder's ass, still stroking his cock leisurely. The finger was pulled back then pushed deep once again, and Mulder realized he was being fucked. And it really wasn't that bad. Jeez.

The finger pulled all the way out for a moment, then he felt two fingers pushed into him. Mulder hissed his pain, but the man didn't stop. In a minute two of this man's large fingers were buried in his ass. The man's other hand went to Mulder's face, gently reassuring him until he relaxed once more, accepting the penetration.

Mulder knew where this was going. Oh, yes, he did. And if he was going to get fucked (and he was), he wanted the same thing this man evidently wanted-he wanted to be relaxed and stretched enough to accept a cock a little easier. Cooperation here was the name of the game. He concentrated on the feel of those fingers in his ass, stretching him, fucking him, penetrating him in advance of the real thing. It wasn't so bad now, in fact-fuck! A slow stroke of those fingers sent a burst of pleasure spiraling through him. He moaned, in pleasure this time, and bucked his hips back, wordlessly asking for more.

The two fingers left him, and three returned. Ahhh! That hurt. Mulder groaned, feeling it burn. The other hand returned to his cock, stroking a little rougher now. The wonderful pleasure between his legs contrasted sharply with the pain of penetration between his legs, until the thrusting fingers found the right spot again, and Mulder sighed his pleasure and accepted those fingers into his body willingly.

The fingers left him, and the man shifted his weight on top of Mulder again. He gently moved Mulder's legs apart further to make room for himself, and Mulder allowed it. The man's hands parted his buttocks, and he felt the large blunt head of a penis at his anus. The hands lifted Mulder's hips to receive him, slowly pushing himself into his ass.

Mulder felt the man's cock penetrating him, filling him, stretching him wide, but the previous finger fucking had done its job, and there was little pain. He moved himself deeper in stages, pausing to let Mulder become accustomed to the size and feel of a large cock penetrating deep into his ass. Mulder felt the man moan deep in his chest, moaning from the pleasure of being held hot and tight in Mulder's ass.

Mulder closed his eyes under the blindfold, trying to name and organize his feelings. He felt...good, and that scared him, shamed him. He felt the man's cock buried in his ass, and he liked it. He liked knowing that he had no choice here. He liked being powerless, penetrated, used as a receptacle for this man's pleasure. It was perverted and contrary to everything he'd ever believed about himself, but he was glad that this man found pleasure in fucking him, and he wanted him to do it. Well, that's a topic for another day. Right now he just had to get through this.

The man slowly drew back, and then thrust forward. He fucked Mulder slowly, deeply, thoroughly. Gradually his thrusts became quicker and harder as he pounded Mulder's ass mercilessly. He grunted with effort at each thrust, and his hands pulled Mulder's hips back to meet him, proving his absolute mastery over the smaller man. Mulder surrendered himself, letting the man control him, accepting his domination as he accepted his cock. The man's weight, his strength, his control, the feel of his cock slamming deep into his ass again and again combined all at once, and he came, yelling his pleasure.

The man forced himself as deep as he could one last time and growled, spurting his semen deep in Mulder's ass, marking him as his property. He lay still, panting, his cock still filling Mulder. "Are you all right, Fox?"

Mulder smiled. "Yeah, Walter. I'm better than all right." 

It was quiet. "How did you know? When?"

"I felt loved, Walter, and there's only one man I know that loves me. Besides, I just love that aftershave you got last Christmas."

"Shit," Walter grumbled. "I never thought..."

"What were you thinking, Walter? I was so scared at first, before I realized..."

"I'm sorry, Fox. I just didn't know what else we could do. You've been too scared to even hug me, even though we both knew you wanted more. I thought that if I could take the choice away, but still give you pleasure...I would never have hurt you. If you had really resisted, if you'd really been in pain, I would have stopped, Fox. I promise you."

"I believe you, Walter. And you know what? It worked. I love having you inside me."

Walter smiled, finally. "I noticed." He gently pulled out of Mulder and quickly released his restraints. He grabbed some cloths and cleaned them both up, then joined his lover on the bed, pulling him close, sheltering him in his arms.

"I love you, Fox."

"I love you, too, Walter."

***************************************************************

The End

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
